


Pierced Hearts, Idle Cups, and Flaming Towers

by Estirose



Category: Power Rangers Dino Thunder
Genre: Gen, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-24
Updated: 2010-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-14 01:30:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/143867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Estirose/pseuds/Estirose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bored Trent gets a Tarot reading, and Anton is not happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pierced Hearts, Idle Cups, and Flaming Towers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tptigger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tptigger/gifts).



"May I tempt you, sir, with a card reading?" the woman asked Trent as he wandered by her table. He and his foster father were attending a charity event, and he had to admit, he was bored. Bored enough to have his cards read, in fact, even though he knew that it wasn't real and, more importantly, that his foster father, Anton Mercer, would pitch a fit over it.

"Sure," he said, taking the chair she offered him, watching her. She had long, curly dark hair with delicate ringlets; her outfit was clearly supposed to be a stereotypical gypsy's. The kerchief on her head and the heavy eyeliner only added to the impression. In her long, slim hands, she held what was clearly a tarot deck.

She nodded to him, and drew three cards. "These represent your past, your present, and your future," she said, putting them face down on the table.

"Okay," he said, as she turned over the first card. It was an image of a heart pierced with three swords, with rainclouds and rain.

"This is the card of the past," she said, indicating it with her hand. "The Three of Swords. It tells of pain, of things torn away. A past of strife." She turned the second card over, caressing it with her hand. "And this is the card of your present."

It was a picture of a young man, discontent, sitting under a tree. Before him were three cups, sitting in the grass, and a fourth was being held by what he guessed was some divine being - or at least a hand coming from a cloud.

"This is the Four of Chalices," she said, indicating the Roman numeral "IV" at the top of the card. "As the past card told of pain and strife, this card talks of uncertainty, of boredom, of change. There is something that you are looking for, that frustrates you, possibly having to do with what you've lost in the past." She moved her hand away from the card, and then reached and turned the third.

"Ah. The Tower. This is a card that signifies something in your life changing suddenly, like the fire on the card." Trent looked at the card, of the people falling from the lightning-struck tower, of the fire in the background and the confusion in their eyes. "There is something important that will change-"

"Trent!" His foster father's furious call made him freeze. "What are you doing?"

"I believe that the young sir is getting a card reading," the fortune teller said smoothly.

"It's time to leave, now," Trent's foster father said. He didn't take Trent by the arm and drag him away; he didn't have to. His disapproval was enough. As soon as they were out of the fortune teller's earshot, he hissed, "You know how I feel about that nonsense."

"I know, I know," Trent told him, holding up his hands. "I was bored, okay?"

That was probably the wrong thing to say, but his foster father seemed to ignore it, staring straight ahead as if afraid something would happen if he didn't. "I don't want you to get drawn into superstition. It's dangerous."

"Dad! It doesn't mean anything, okay?" His father was clearly incensed, and Trent wished he knew why. He knew he'd be in trouble, but he'd expected coldness, not this naked anger.

"I promised your parents I'd keep you out of danger," his foster father said to himself. He took a deep breath. "Don't ever do that again."

"I won't, Dad, I promise," Trent said. Anything to calm the man down again, as he saw that his foster father's hands were clenched, and his knuckles were white.

"Good." That was the last word, it seemed, because Anton Mercer swept out the door, and Trent, not wanting to cause more problems, followed right after.


End file.
